


Irreplaceable

by Oparu



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, philinda bad days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4507179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melinda's lost her favorite jacket to a science experiment gone wrong and Phil wishes he could help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irreplaceable

It's been three days in a row, biting winds, but not too cold, and Melinda hasn't worn her favorite leather jacket. He knows the one with the diagonal zipper doesn't fit as well. It fits her perfectly, of course, but she thinks the leather isn't as soft, and the zipper catches sometimes. Her real favorite is absent. It's the one where the zipper sings when she takes it off. She's had it patched four times (two knife wounds, a bullet hole and shrapnel) but he hasn't seen any boxes headed out for Hong Kong so even the little tailor shop in Kowloon must not be able to fix it this time. It makes sense, whatever Simmons was working on last week was a biological agent dangerous to organic tissues, and leather is, well, was, alive once. So maybe that was how she lost the jacket? She hasn't said anything, but Simmons looks miserable over breakfast for days and Melinda keeps patting her shoulder and mentioning that she has other jackets.

Which she does. They're not that one. Melinda can't claim it's lucky because she's cleaned much blood out of it. She liked it. She doesn't have many outfits. She hates waste and anything that's less than efficient so all her clothes are practical. She raises an eyebrow at the number of suits he has, but always helps him find a dry cleaner when he needs one. He knows she doesn't want to admit that she had a favorite jacket because being attached to a thing that isn't a plane, a motorcycle or a well-balanced weapon, isn't her.

She liked this one though. He knows she did. She won't say anything; she hasn't even admitted that losing it has made her sad. Her shoulders slump as she finishes her workout, and even his lazy 'give me a hand with this' joke that's been old since the first time he used it, but it usually makes her roll her eyes. He can't even get that today.

He mixes up her tea and his coffee when he sets them down on her desk, and she picks up the mug and sets it down without even mentioning that he's trying to poison her. He'll have to try harder. Changing his place on the cooking rota with Mack is easy enough, and he uses the most secure channel to contact Lian, because she keeps herself very hidden for a myriad reasons. He won't be able to get the right green onions, because Lian's recipes are always very particular. He can't cook Melinda's favorite's right, but he'll try and getting close might make her smile. 

She does smile over dinner. Perhaps because Simmons and Fitz's attempts at chopsticks are always amusing, and the wine's good. The food's acceptable, and she appreciates the gesture because she keeps finding little ways to smile in his direction. Later, when the plates are gone and it's just the two of them, sitting lazily and finishing the wine, she slides her tablet in his direction.

"The third one," she says, waiting for his opinion. 

"Does it have enough pockets?" He asks, studying the leather jacket on the website. "I only see three."

"Two internal," Melinda explains and takes it back. "I don't know though. You might be right."

"Italian," he notes. "Good choice."

"Apparently Brazil's been improving their leather working," she says. "Thought about it."

"Won't be the same though," he muses, waiting for her to look up. 

"Never is." 

"Simmons is sorry." 

She chuckles. "I know, Phil, believe me." 

"I'm sorry." 

She nods, listening but not really. 

"I know that one was your favorite."

Melinda shrugs. "Just a jacket."

"It wasn't though," he presses. "You wore that one the most."

"Being accustomed to a thing doesn't make it special," she reminds him. "You know that." 

"Familiarity breeds contempt?"

Melinda rolls her eyes. "Only when the familiar continues to make ridiculous jokes." 

"You like my ridiculous jokes." 

She shakes her head. "I don't, and your cooking doesn't compare to my mother's."

"I know." He reaches across the table and takes her hand. "I tried." 

Melinda smirks at him. "You did." 

That smile is worth it.


End file.
